Our Fifth Meeting
by nowirealise
Summary: As the world enters the twentieth century Elliot Reid is forced to make a choice. AU.
1. Choices

**AN: **This is my first scrubs story so I'd love to hear some feedback on it, please tell me if anyone is wildly out of character. I'm also considering extending this from a one shot so please tell me if you'd be interested.

---

The grandfather clock in the hallway ticks closer to midnight, closer to the end of the nineteenth century and all I can think of is him. How right now we should be together. I shouldn't be here, smiling at the rich friends of my parents, giggling about my upcoming marriage and what it will be like on "the night". Just a few months ago this was my world, this was where I belonged. Now I feel like an outsider, an imposter.

Because of him.

I shouldn't be here. I should be on the other side of town, with him, with his friends. They could be my friends, if I let them. But I never did, always thought of myself as better than them. Because I am rich and they are not.

But really, how does wealth matter?

"_Miss Reid I do not believe this is a good idea." _

"_I did not ask your opinion Carla," _

I sit outside and let the cold air wash over me. It's refreshing to be out here, away from the pointless chatter of inside. I can just sit, sit and think. Think of the first time we met. How it was an accident. How if I had listened to my mother I would not have met him at all.

"_Miss Reid, I could lose my job for this." _

"_That does not bother me." _

How different I was then. A sheltered girl who only cared about material goods. I assessed people on their wealth, not their personalities. I let people dictate my life. I had my husband chosen for me due to his social standing; no thought was given to whether we were compatible.

"_Well isn't it my favourite spoilt little princess. Why do you grace us with your presence? Because I re-heally do not have time for this." _

"_Delightful as always. I've come to speak about a patient of yours." _

It was ridiculous, the airs I put on. The pretence I put up. I acted as if I was not worried about my mother finding out I was visiting that, side of town. I acted as if I did not care for Carla when she was closest thing to a friend I had. I acted as if Percival Cox did not intimidate me in the slightest, in all honesty every moment I spent in his presence I was terrified.

"_Miss Clock is in the third room on the right."_

That was the only reason I was there in the first place. Molly, a childhood friend of mine, had been kicked out of her family home the week before. She had refused to marry the husband chosen for her.

"_I was dreadfully worried about you."_

"_Don't be. You are such a worrier Elliot, I will be fine."_

She was always an optimist. Although I think she knew death was nearing, she still kept up a happy appearance. She kept up the spirits of the other poor souls in Cox's charity hospital.

"_You could see my family Doctor. I will pay for the trouble."_

"_I am fine here. Dr. Cox has good people working for him."_

I didn't believe her. Not then. Not once she'd died. Pneumonia. Not even though I knew there was nothing her Doctor could have done. I demanded to speak to her Doctor, even though everyone was telling me it was not his fault. I wanted someone to blame.

"_Miss Reid I presume?"_

I'd been expecting someone like Cox. Grumpy, miserable and cynical. Someone who was using their wealth to help the poor. I didn't see any sense in that, not back then. I had not been expecting him. A young man, around my age, looking tired as if life was wearing him down. He could not have been from a wealthy family but he spoke impeccably.

"_That is I."_

"_I am sorry for your loss Miss Reid but I assure you there was nothing that could be done."_

I believed him.

"_I understand. I just want to thank you for all you've done Doctor―"_

"_Dorian. John Dorian."_

"_Doctor Dorian."_

At the time I had noticed Carla watching us with interest. I had not asked her about it afterwards. Discussing such matters with servants is simply not proper. I would, possibly, discuss such things with her now but only as she has left service with my family.

"_Isn't Dr. Dorian a delight?"_

"_He is Miss Reid."_

"_Please Carla stop looking at me like that."_

"_Like what miss?"_

"_Like you know something I don't."_

"_As you wish Miss Reid."_

That was the first time we met. I never expected to see him again. I don't normally venture into the area of town Dr. Cox's charity is located in. The beggars and the poor are a minor inconvenience, it is the stench and the overwhelming feeling you are about to get mugged that I detest.

I push myself off the bench, making my way over to the balcony which looks out over the Gardens of my family's estate. Just looking at the gardens reminded me of our second meeting.

It had been a warm Autumn day, a slight breeze pasting over the grounds making the weather perfectly acceptable. My mother had forced me out of the house, telling me I was looking too pale and "no man will find that attractive". I'd been wandering slowly through the gardens when I had found Carla talking to a man I recognised.

"_Carla, I did not realise you knew Doctor Dorian."_

"_Oh, yes Miss. I have known him a few years."_

"_Carla's fiancé is a friend of mine."_

"_I did not know you were engaged Carla."_

I should have guessed, she had handed in her resignation a few days before. After eight years of service to my family she was leaving unexpectedly. It didn't even cross my mind to ask why.

"_Yes Miss. We're to marry next week."_

"_We'd need a lot of lettuce."_

"_I'm sorry?"_

"_Oh. Nothing Miss Reid."_

He fascinated me. With his perfected speech yet obvious low income and his strange, unprovoked comment. He fascinated me so much I wished to speak to him again.

"_I hope it is not rude for me to ask if it would be possible for me to attend the service?"_

I can still clearly remember the look they exchanged, as if they could not really believe I was asking to attend a servant's marriage. Looking back on the event it does seem awfully out of character compared to the woman Carla had spent eight years with. At the time, it made perfect sense.

Our third encounter came at the wedding. I had convinced Melody, a friend of mine into coming with me after my parents refused to see a point in attending.

"_Do you happen to know the Best Man?"_

"_Not personally but his name is John Dorian, he's a Doctor at Percival Cox's charity."_

"_Pity."_

I played along at the time, pretending that I saw him as below of me due to his place of work. With most I would have but not with him. He was different.

"_I did not think you would make it."_

_  
"I am a woman of my word Doctor Dorian."_

"_JD."_

He had smiled at the look of confusion on her face.

"_It's an old nickname, my brother thought it up."_

"_Interesting."_

He had made excuses then, left me and Melody alone.

"_You can not possibly think your parents would allow you to marry him."_

"_Of course not. Why would I even be thinking of that?"_

She had given me a look then, one I recognised as the exact look Carla had given me a few weeks before. As if she knew something I did not.

I smile at the memory. Back then I still felt like a child even though I was well into my mid-twenties. I turn my back to the gardens, walk over to the other side of the balcony. I look over the quieting city, behind me New Year's celebrations are taking place all over the poorer areas but where I am looking, the city is silent.

Although it is dark, so I can not see much other than the tops of buildings and the stars in the sky I can still point out the place where we had our fourth meeting. Unlike the other meetings he found me but I did not want to be found.

"_Miss Reid?"_

I had ignored him. Ashamed that anyone had found me like this, sitting in a dirty doorway, tears in my eyes.

"_Miss Reid are you alright?"_

I had covered my face with my hands, hoping he would go away so I could be alone in my pathetic misery. He was about to leave, I could feel him begin to walk away when I suddenly told him.

"_I am to marry."_

"_You do not want to marry?"_

"_Not to him."_

I still don't.

"_You do not have to."_

I laughed a little at the ridiculous statement. He sounded so sure, as if it was that easy. He had obviously had very few dealings with families like mine.

"_I do. My mother is already planning the ceremony."_

My mother had been planning the ceremony since before my birth. The planning she had been doing at this point was just the finishing touches. I barely noticed him sitting down next to me, only realising properly when he spoke again,

"_When is this ceremony?"_

"_January twenty-seventh."_

I looked up at him as he disappeared into his thoughts. I hurriedly wiped the tears out of my eyes, hoping that he would not think too badly of me. My mother had always told me that only weak women cry.

"_The pigeons may be a bit much."_

I laughed a genuine laugh, wondering what had been going on in his mind to bring about such a comment. Then he suggested something I had not even considered before,

"_You could always run away."_

"_Runaway? But where would I live?"_

"_With me?"_

I had stared at him, scandalised by such a thought. Seeing my expression he had reconsidered.

"_Or not. But I am sure I could find somewhere, it would not be anything like your home but it would be warm."_

He glanced at me, looking away from the spot on the world he had been staring at whilst formulating a plan.

"_You would be able to make your own decisions."_

I seriously considered the thought for a second. Then I began to properly think about his proposal, the idea of leaving my family, my friends, the life I had grown accustomed to. I knew I would not be able to do it, I could not give him false hope.

"_I would not be able to leave."_

I stood up, he followed, a strange look in his eyes that seemed to be begging me not to go. I looked at him then took the impulsive decision to reach up and kiss his cheek. I regretted the decision as soon as I had made it. I still regret it now, anyone could have seen. Then I walked away, as fast as I could, my corset stopping me from being able to walk particularly fast. I lifted my skirt up slightly so it would not trail on the muddy ground.

"_If you change your mind I'll be waiting."_

His sudden exclamation made me stop.

"_Until when?"_

"_Midnight. The turn of the century. Dr. Cox's hospital."_

I nodded, and then walked away trying to resist the urge to turn back and see his face for one last time. I did not manage it. That was the second decision of that day which I regret. The look on his face will haunt me forever.

"Your father requests your presence."

I turn to see my future husband, standing behind me, a look of concern gracing his features. I should feel happy with this marriage, Keith will be a good father, a good husband. Yet, I am not. I can not help to feel regret for not taking his offer. I will now never know if it would've made me happier.

I follow Keith into the ballroom where my father is making a toast. He toasts to Keith and I, to the twentieth century, to President McKinley, to making good choices.

The sinking feeling in my stomach let's me know that I have made the wrong choice.

I should be somewhere else right now.

The grandfather clock chimes, beginning the countdown to the New Year, the new century.

It's too late.


	2. Carla

**AN: **Thank you so much to everyone who's reviewed, I'm so glad you all enjoyed the first chapter. As you can see I've decided to extend this from a one-shot, although I'm not exactly sure how long the whole thing is going to be yet. Anyway here's Chapter Two, I hope you enjoy it.

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Since New Year, four days previous, I have had the constant feeling that I am being watched. I made the mistake of mentioning my fears about my marriage when Victoria, an old friend of my Mother's, was in earshot. I must presume that she has told my mother as ever since New Years I have had the feeling of being watched. It is not a feeling I particulary enjoy.

Normally, in the days after New Year I would go for a walk in the gardens or get Lloyd, our carriage driver to drive me into the town, Spending sometime browsing for new hats is usually enough to get anything off my mind, at least for a little while. Except I do not currently want to into the gardens for every step I take I feel as if someone is watching me. That is most likely my Mother's doing but I can not ask her to stop making the staff watch me as she will deny it. It does not help that I have no proof.

I do not wish to go into town as my last visit, two days previous was highly uncomfortable. For the entire visit I felt as if I was being judged. The sales assistants in the shops watch me with a look of disgust. It is as if they know the choice I made. In fact they most probably do, if I remember correctly then Carla's husband is a close friend of his and Carla has always been known as a gossip. She has most likely told everyone she knows and they have told everyone they know, so now sales assistants are judging me. As if they have any right to. I am the daughter of a well respected, wealthy man and they, they help sell hats.

After two days of isolation I decided that I would have to get myself out of the house. I knew Mother would not allow me out of the house alone and I do not want a servant with me, silently judging me for actions they can not even begin to comprehend. So last night I came to the conclusion that I would have to sneak out.

It was easier than I had expected. I began my day as normal. I ate breakfast with Mother, which was an awkward occasion but it always has been. Then, after breakfast I declared that I was to go for a walk in the gardens as I needed some air. Except instead of turning into the gardens I carried on down the path that led into the town.

I did not manage to get very far down the path before I had to stop. I would have liked to be able to walk quicker but the pace I managed to attain was all my corset would allow. The easiest option would have been to not wear a corset but I would not have been able to get out of the house if I had not been wearing my it, not to mention that the thought of going without one is just scandalous.

I pause to get my breath back, moving over to the side of the path just in case a carriage comes past. I considered sitting down on the grass by the side of the path but the idea of crumpling, or worse still, staining, my dress made me decide against it. Instead I just stood by the side of the path, worries suddenly plaguing my thoughts. _Has Mother realised I am not in the gardens? Has she sent someone out to look for me? How long have I been away? How much trouble am I in? _I try to forget my worries by plucking a small flower from the roadside, slowly picking off the petals in an attempt to distract myself. A few moments pass in silence before a voice breaks into my thoughts,

"He really thought you would come."

I looked up to see Carla watching me from the other side of the near deserted street. At first her appearance shocks me. Her hair was pulled up into a messy bun, not the neat, regulated hairstyle she wore whilst in service with my family. Her dress is creased and appears dirty in places. The whole look makes her look poorer. Then I looked up to her face, she looked tired, exhausted even. Though it was her expression which bothered me most. She was looking at me as if I was a scab on the bottom of her foot rather than the respected, wealthy young woman that I am. I ignored her, concentrating once again on picking the petals off the flower.

"You should feel ashamed."

That little comment made me snap. Maybe it was because I already felt ashamed and I did not need some interfering pauper to remind me. Maybe it was just because I wanted to put her in her place. Whatever the reason I looked up at her and snapped,

"You do not understand my life."

She looks at me then, with a complete look of disbelief, as if she can not quite believe those words left my mouth. She looks as if she is not going to say anything, as if she realises her position below me and is not going to question it. She is not going to question me. Then something changes and suddenly she is ranting at me, a high speed, high pitched rant that seems to have been several years in the making,

"I do not understand your life? You think that after eight years. Eight years. Of working for your family I would not have some idea of what it is like to be you? Of course you do not. You are Elliot Reid, you do not think of others. You only worry about your own petty problems. You think you could not have left? You could have. You just did not want too. You liked the idea of it, you liked making him believe you would come but when it came down to it you like your perfect, rich life more. Well, I hope you regret this. I hope every time you think of him you regret your decision."

She then turns, walking surprisingly quickly up the road, towards my family's home. It was almost as if she was worried I would slap for her outburst. Truthfully, I was considering it even though I knew she spoke the truth. However that is not the way one should speak to those above them. I watch her for a few moments, before suddenly wondering why she is going towards my family's house. She is not in service with my family anymore, not since her marriage a couple of months previous.

"Why are you heading that way?"

She turns, giving me an odd look that asks if it is any of my business, then gestures towards the wicker basket she is holding, "Mary asked me to bring some things up." I momentarily wonder who Mary is. My thoughts must have been obvious on face as at that moment Carla scowls at me, "Mary is your cook. She has worked for your family near twelve years."

"Oh."

She says nothing in reply to that, instead choosing to turn away from me, walking up the path at a surprising speed. As I watch her leave I begin to let the worries creep in again, glancing up at the sky I notice a few grey clouds a little way away and decide now is probably a good time to go back home.

"Carla?" I call out, hoping she is not too far away to hear. I see her pause for a second but then decide to keep walking, obviously she has heard me. "Can I walk back with you?"

She stops at that, not quite able to hide her confusion at my request by the time she has turned to face me. She sighs as I walk up towards her muttering, "If you insist," as I reach her.

The silence during the walk back is uncomfortable to say the least. I had not realised how far I had managed to walk and considering that the path goes uphill towards my home the walk back seems twice as long. Not helping is the fact that every time I try to rectify the situation with Carla she just glares at me, or mutters something in a language I do not understand.

She speeds up as we near the house, obviously anxious to get away from me. I almost scowl at that but stop myself before I do, scowling is unladylike. I try to think of a way to persuade her to like me again, if she ever did. After her outburst earlier I am not so sure she was ever particularly fond of me.

My Mother is sitting in the parlour, I am informed as soon as I enter the house, apparently she wishes to discuss some wedding matters with me. The sinking feeling in my stomach confirms what I have been trying to ignore since New Year. I do not want to get married. Not to some man I barely know and am only marrying due to his wealth and connections. Not because I am in my mid twenties and my Mother is worrying that if I do not marry now I will never marry. I want to marry at a date of my own choosing for the right reasons. I just have to work out how to get out of this engagement.


	3. Visit

**AN:** Thank you so much to everyone who's reviewed. So sorry about the long wait between this chapter and the last but I'm hopefully going to be able to get the next one up quicker.

---

As I enter the parlour I do not expect a pleasant greeting, I am only mildly surprised when Mother does not even acknowledge I've been back. I expected her to at least question where I have been but she just sighs, taking in my appearance.

"That dress?"

I glance down at my dress; it is a simple garment, perfectly acceptable for the occasion. It is a pale blue colour that I had chosen it as I thought it was pretty. From Mother's expression it was obvious she did not agree.

"Honestly Elliot, you know that colour makes you look far too pale." Mother tells me, as if it is my fault her expectations for me are far too high, turning her head away and looking towards the fireplace. "I guess it's just lucky we are marrying you off now."

I try to ignore her comment but the attempt proves unsuccessful. I glance at my reflection in the mirror opposite in a vain attempt to convince myself that I do not look too pale. Mother does not notice my reaction, instead begins to talk about my upcoming wedding, still looking away.

She then turns back to me and says that I am to go for a fitting tomorrow. She will not be attending, of course but I am to take a servant with me. She doesn't specify who. I make a mental note to take with me the most easily influenced of our staff, someone who will not tell Mother about the short diversion to the trip I was already planning.

"That will be all Elliot." I take that as my cue to leave, hastily exiting the room going upstairs towards my room. I need time to plan what I am going to do.

I do not sleep well that night. I drift in and out of an uneasy sleep, waking often and then struggling to fall back to sleep. I wake early and go through the day in a daze, barely registering that time is passing. I only really wake up hours after I get up, after breakfast, after the bumpy carriage journey into town, after the dress fitting which fortunately went quicker than expected, after stating that I need to make a quick visit elsewhere. After all that it a simple sentence that wakes me up.

"Miss Reid I do not believe this is a good idea."

"I did not ask your opinion"

The overwhelming sense of déjà vu swept over me as my words hang in the air, letting me know that my transformation back to my old ways has been swift. I had not even realised it was happening, not until now.

The rest of the journey is spent in silence. Unlike Carla this servant, who's name I have not bothered to learn, does not try to persuade me anymore. I am thankful for that but at the same time I am not. I do not want someone reminding me that I am not supposed to be here yet the silence allows me to sink into my thoughts.

My thoughts are not somewhere I currently want to be.

I turn the corner, the respectable parts of town where Mother expects me to be left far behind. This area has been named by some as "up and coming" but to me it looks the same as every other poor area. The homes are shabby, the businesses struggling and the people tired. It is beyond me how the occupants look so cheerful considering their living conditions.

I tell the servant, who has been walking only two paces behind me, to wait as I reached my destination. I do not need my conversation in here to be reported back to the gossipy poor that make up our serving staff. She nods, accepting my order, glancing slightly at the unattractive watch attached to her wrist. It is a subtle, silent reminder that I need to be quick. Mother is expecting me back at four.

Taking a deep breath I push open the door, striding into the small shop. In contrast to many shops in this area the place actually looks presentable. It is clean, which I guess is Carla's influence, the walls are painted a pale colour and certain windows have been strategically left open in order to get the most air into the place.

Overall it is a pleasant effect.

"Miss Reid?"

I turn to see a large, coloured man looking at me with a confused expression. I recognise him vaguely, guessing him to be Carla's husband who I briefly spoke with at their wedding.

"I guess you're here for your appointment?" He asks with mock sincerity, laughing to himself at his "hilarious" joke. I smile tensely at him, glancing around the barber's shop which is unusually empty. Though considering the part of town it is not unlikely that all possible customers are working right now.

"I am here to speak with Carla."

He nods, walking away from me to a door on the other side of the room, mumbling something barely audible about "no sense of humour". I roll my eyes at his retreating back.

As he sticks his head round the door, obviously calling his wife, I glance around the room. I focus in on the clock on the wall, the minute hand creeping closer and closer to Three O'clock. I take note that I will need to leave soon in order to get back to the carriage in time to make it home for four.

I jump slightly as the bell rings, indicating a customer entering the barber's. Carla's husband turns his head, notices the customer and goes over to greet them as Carla walks out of the door and towards me.

"Miss Reid what a…" She trails off, pausing with the obvious intent of choosing the best word, "pleasant surprise."

I bite my tongue, forcing myself to ignore the smug look on her face as she knows I will not, can not, say anything about the sarcastic tone in her voice. A comment would start an argument. I will not allow myself to begin a petty argument, something so clearly below me. Instead I give a simple answer, using my tone carefully to come across friendly, "I am sure it is."

Carla looks at me, a bemused expression crossing her face as she asks, "Did you come for any particular reason?" Although her face carries the bemused expression well she's got that look in her eyes that I had seen many times whilst she was working for my family. She doesn't want to talk to me.

"Oh, Yes of course." I tell her, fishing through the small, leather pouch attached to my dress for the note I'd put in there earlier. Finding the folded, slightly crumpled piece of paper I pass it to Carla. I smile at her as I ask, "Would you to be able to pass this message on to Dr. Dorian"

Her expression changes momentarily to confusion as she takes the note off me, trying to seem uninterested. She glances at it is briefly, as if fighting the urge to open it and read it's contents, before looking back up at me.

"Well it was nice speaking to you Carla."

"You too Miss Reid"

I nod, turning on my heel and leaving the shop at a brisk pace, glancing at the clock on the wall as I go. "Three Ten," I mutter to myself, pushing open the door and walking out onto the street.

- - - - -

I watch her as she leaves, walking in the silly fashion all rich women do. Maybe it's their corsets or the fact that they all believe themselves to be better than the rest of us but all rich women walk in the same peculiar way. It's a walk that has always amused me.

I try, and fail, to stop a smirk spreading onto my face as she trips on the uneven, cobbled street, almost falling into a muddy puddle. Her servant, Sonja, a young girl of Indian origin, catches her, much to my disappointment. I watch as she straightens herself up, laughing slightly at the look of embarrassment on her face.

Once she is out of sight my attention goes back to the note in my hand. I know I shouldn't open it; it's not a message for me. Still, she gave it to me and she's made comments on occasion to my gossiping nature. She knows I'll want to read it. _Anyway, _I reason with myself, retreating to the storage room at the back of the barbers as I carefully unfold the letter, _If she didn't want anyone else to read it she would have taken it straight to him._

I close the door, leaning against it as I quickly finish unfolding the note, my carefulness lost in my "want" to know what her message is. I read through the note carefully, taking in every word and raising my eyebrows as I do so. As I finish it, I read through the note twice again to make sure I've read it right. She can't possibly expect him to agree to this, not after New Year.

My first instinct is to not tell him about the note, if she really wants to apologise she can go and talk to him herself. However my brain kicks in at that point, telling me that it's his decision and if he wants to hurt himself again, it's his choice. I sigh, failing to come up with an excuse not deliver the note. Glancing around the store room I quickly spot my coat, neatly hung on its peg. I grab the coat, slip the note into one of the pockets and exit the store room.

I call over to my husband, letting him know where I'm going and that I'm not planning to take long. Fortunately he's working so can't quiz me on what Elliot Reid wanted but he still gives me a suspicious look as he glances up. I smile at him, not wanting to tell about my previous conversation right now. I'll tell him later.


End file.
